French Tips
by sweetiepie1019
Summary: A quick peek into Lois' thoughts concerning her and Clark after


AN: I just had a rather random idea for a fic. I know, I know, the wedding episode was months ago, but I only thought of this now, so read it anyway. Just so you know, this isn't my personal opinion of the relationship between Lois and Clark at all. I love Clois. Just with all the Clana "epic love" stuff the writers have been spouting for the past few seasons and all the times Clark has waxed poetic about Lana and all the times he's ignored someone else – especially Lois – in favor of Lana … well, if I were Lois, this is what I'd be feeling. It's a little self-pitying, but still. Anyway, this takes place when Jimmy gets airlifted to … wherever the hell he got airlifted to. I'm frankly too lazy to go back and find out. Ah, my commitment to the craft.

Disclaimer: If I owned Smallville, the show would be more Lexana and Clois oriented. And Chloe would be the superhero and Lana would be a supervillianess. And Lex would be around instead of Tess Mercer because I would have made Michael Rosenbaum sign that contract. Suffice to say, it would be different.

I've always had an oral fixation problem. When the General gave me my one and only Barbie when I was five, I chewed her oddly pointed feet to shreds. From then on I've left a bloody trail of pen caps and bitten off fingernails. I even have a habit of yanking at my bottom lip with my teeth when I'm talking. My combined trips to the orthodontist growing up cost more than my first car. It's taken me years to be able to control myself long enough to get nails long enough to paint.

Last night, I splurged and got a mani-pedi at my hair salon. Ok, well not "splurged," exactly. But it looked … nice. I looked nice. That day, I looked like a normal girl. The kind of girl normal guys – not heroes or the owner of the Daily Planet or anything supernatural – but a normal, down-to-earth, homespun kind of guy would fall for. There wasn't any dirt or blood or ink from the printer anywhere on me. I was just a pretty girl in a pretty dress who had French tips and an up-do, sharing a dance with a regular kind of guy at Smallville's romantic event of the season. I mean, we were in a barn. What's normal and safe than a barn?

My nails still look nice. They look a little blue around the edges from the tint of the hospital light shining above me, but the paint hasn't chipped or anything. My dress is still pretty. I'm still ink and dirt free.

Why did I think that was enough?

I live in a town where bad things happen to good people. Jimmy's in an emergency room looking like a cat the size of the Chrysler Building sharpened it's claws on his chest. Chloe's gone again. Chloe … bad things are always happening to her, and she's probably the best person I know. If she doesn't get her perfect moment, why should I?

It shouldn't matter to me right now. I'm out here waiting for news if Jimmy's even going to make it through the night. I look ridiculous in my pretty dress sitting in this little plastic chair with the floral patterned cushions. All my make-up has run together because I can't stop myself from crying every hour or so. I look all the more ridiculous because nobody else came with me. None of the other guests came with me to see how Jimmy was doing. His family's still back in Smallville, I think. So I have to concentrate on worrying about Jimmy because I'm the only one here to do it.

But I can't help it. Something hit me tonight, and instead of thinking about Jimmy and Chloe like I should, I'm thinking about Clark Kent. Maybe it's because thinking about Jimmy and Chloe is just too big for me right now. What will happen to them … what that monster was … why it attacked us … it's all a little much. So I'm processing the other event – non-event – of the evening.

The thing is, I want Clark. It's a lot easier to admit it now that I know I'm never going to have him. Not having what I want is something I'm used to. I only denied how I felt when I faced the insurmountable terror of actually being happy. Like I said, I live in a town where bad things happen. But now it's easy to think about it. I want Clark and that's ok. I never have to admit it to him. I don't have to worry about losing his friendship because things are never going to change between us.

I guess I thought there were two Clarks. One was the farm-owning, Lana-loving Clark who was destined to buy a sensible car and raise lots of kids wearing flannel. The other was the one I had been with these past few months since Lana had been gone. This was the reporter Clark that Chloe had created back in high school and I had dug back out. This Clark wore ties and worked at the Planet, and drank coffee and had deadlines just like everybody else. I thought that reporter Clark could end up with someone besides Lana.

But I saw them together today, and I knew then and there that I was never going to be with Clark Kent, because no matter which version of himself that he was, he would always love Lana Lang. I don't think they'll stay together long. They never do. It doesn't matter. I could never be with him. I know how he feels about Lana, and that anything he could feel for me won't be the same.

I once told him that maybe he should be patient, that maybe he'd find something special – that he'd been saving up for a bicycle, but maybe one day he'd find out he'd was really getting a Harley. Or something like that. And usually I'd consider myself pretty Harley-like. But every time Clark looks at me from now on, I'm going to know he's only seeing a bicycle. He might be fine with me for now but he'll always be waiting for his Harley. And that's Lana. For him, it'll always, always be Lana. I can't be with him, knowing that. I can't be anybody's second best. I can't.

A nurse comes out of Jimmy's room, but she avoids eye contact with me. I stand up and look in his room. Jimmy's face looks ashen. His arms are stuck with ten different wires that lead to four or five imposing-looking machines. Another nurse and a doctor are fluttering around him, checking his bandages, taking his blood pressure, monitoring his heart rate. Their expressions are all I need for the bottom to drop out of my stomach.

I stand there, watching them, knowing what I know about my future with Clark and knowing nothing at all about Jimmy or Chloe, and I stick the tip of my right thumb between my teeth. One by one, I chew my nails down to the skin, and each one of my fingers begins to bleed.

AN: So that was a nice oneshot to get me in the swing of things. Next, I will attempt to update one of my actual stories. Yay!


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